


Habits

by Opalescence



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Community: spnkink_meme, Fisting, Heavy BDSM, Humiliation, Knifeplay, M/M, Masochism, Sibling Incest, Smoking, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-27
Updated: 2014-02-27
Packaged: 2018-01-13 22:16:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1242568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Opalescence/pseuds/Opalescence
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a kink meme prompt: "Sam turns Dean into his sex slave -- I don't really care if we see it or not, either's fine -- and now he's got Dean totally "trained". He can do anything he wants to Dean, and the more physical pain or humiliation involved the more Dean wants it.  I'm good with pretty much anything but daddy!kink and scat -- seriously, I just want something way dark, totally unhealthy, and utterly filthy."</p><p>Hard consensual sexual violence. In a grimy smokers' motel room, Sam hurts Dean, because Sam needs Dean and Dean needs to be hurt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Habits

Another night on the road, another dreary Motel 6 room in Minnesota. The clerk at check-in had looked a bit funny at the two men asking for the furthest room in the motel's strip with a king bed, and Sam had smirked at him like, _yeah, it's exactly what you think but are you really gonna make a fuss about it_ , and the clerk hadn't made a fuss about it, just given them the key. It was a doleful little room with wallpaper as yellowed as the blinds, which neither brother bothered to open. The king bed took up most of the space. It was festooned in gaudy brown and gold bedclothes that were clearly chosen to hide stains easily. The stench of stale tobacco in the room was palpable.

“Why'd you book a smoking room tonight, Sammy?”

“You smoke, right?”

“Yeah. Didn't know you knew.”

“You shouldn't be keeping secrets from me, Dean,” Sam said, casually. “I noticed the butts outside our rooms in the mornings, so I checked all your coats' pockets and found this.” He unzipped the side of the duffel bag he was carrying and pulled out an opened pack of cheap gas station menthols and a lighter. “Get on the bed.”

Dean rolled into the middle of the bed, shrugging off his leather jacket and tossing it onto the grungy carpet. “So this is the game we're playing tonight tonight? You're going to go all _Fifty Shades_ on me cuz you caught me with smokes? Coming from the guy with the thing for demon blood, that's pretty weak, man.”

“That's not my plan. Shirt off, too.”

As Dean obediently rolled up his tee, Sam rummaged through his duffel bag for more supplies, getting the nightstand ready. The cigarettes and lighter. Bottle of lube. Latex gloves. A small knife. His belt, which he removed and neatly folded. A pint of whiskey.

“You want me to go get ice?” Dean asked.

“You can drink it straight, if you need some.” Sitting down on the side of the bed, Sam lit one of the menthols and inhaled, then coughed. “Jesus, Dean, don't know how you enjoy these. It's like huffing a burning Christmas tree. You want a puff?” He handed the smoke to Dean, who took a long drag and exhaled with satisfaction before returning it, and then he climbed up at the foot of the bed, cigarette in hand. “Let's start.”

Dean reflexively raised his hips and spread his legs just like his brother liked, but Sam pushed him down and straddled him, pinning him under his massive frame. He took another little pull on the cigarette – it tasted repulsive but was rather soothing – and flicked the ash onto Dean's supine body. Dean flinched a bit from the mild burn. Sam's eyes wandered over his chest. Muscular, tanned. Not as scarred as you'd expect given their line of work.

He pressed the lit cigarette in just beneath Dean's nipple.

Dean let out a choked curse and began to thrash underneath Sam's body, but Sam pressed down hard on his shoulder so he had no way to escape the searing. It was two or three agonizing seconds before he withdrew the implement from Dean's skin, and Dean went limp beneath him, his breaths shallow and irregular.

“How did that feel, Dean?” Sam's voice seemed genuinely concerned. Zero notes of sadistic glee here.

Dean didn't respond.

“For the next one, you should hold onto the bedposts. It'll stop you from hurting yourself squirming around like that.” Dean complied immediately.

The second burn Dean was more prepared for. He gritted his teeth as as the cigarette approached his flesh, clearly fighting as hard as he could against his instinctive reaction to struggle or scream. Then hot implement found its mark and Dean's body tensed completely, his eyes rolling back in his head as though his entire world had collapsed into the pain he was experiencing. When Sam withdrew the cigarette, Dean went slack. He was breathing heavily, almost panting, but his face was totally blank – not fearful, not angry, not defiant. He met Sam's gaze with glassy, relaxed eyes.

Sam smiled. “Those wounds look good on you, Dean. Like another set of nipples. You want me to give you a whole row on each side, like a dog?”

Dean was silent.

“Dean, tell me to keep going, or I'll stop.” His voice was more lighthearted now, his breath more quick – now it sounded less like a genuine reassurance and more like a threat.

“Don't stop.”

“That's not good enough, Dean. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

“I... I want you to burn me with my cigarettes, Sammy.”

“Tell me why you want that.”

“Because I'm a slut for pain.”

“I love how you say that. It's not _just_ the pain, though, is it? You've gotten hurt real bad on hunts before, but you never reacted like this. Demon or a vamp or another human do this to you. Why?”

“Because it's – because you – you own me. And you're gonna mark me to show how you own me. Gonna mark me up and make me your bitch.”

“Mmm, God, Dean, that's hot,” Sam whispered. He undid his big brother's fly and slipped his hand under the elastic of his briefs, giving him a tentative stroke before using the knife from the nightstand to free Dean's cock from his underclothes so he could see how much Dean was getting off to this. It was fully hard and engorged, its tip beading with pre. Then he snuffed out the now-guttering smoke into the ashtray, lit a second, and gave Dean what he asked for.

Burn number three: Dean arched his hips into Sam's, eager for the friction.

Burn number four: Dean's eyes moistened, his breaths choked up, and Sam was about to ask him if he was okay when Dean loosened his grip on one bedpost and ran a finger over the line of wounds, letting out a moan that was half pain and half longing.

Burn number five: Dean's hard-on was flagging from the pain and as Sam stroked it back into attention, he buried Dean in a deep kiss, and Dean embraced him tightly, one hand in Sam's hair as Sam moved down to lick and chew on his nipple, his fist clenching hard as Sam bit, then harder as Sam's tongue moved to the open burns below.

Burn number six: Dean went limp, plastered in a thin layer of sweat, the fight beaten out of him, as Sam branded him with the final mark.

“Good boy,” Sam murmured into Dean's ear. “You want more?”

“It – it hurts a _lot_ , Sammy...”

“That's not an answer. You want a break?”

“M-maybe... fuck, I dunno...”

“It's fine. You deserve a reward. Sit up, you can take the edge off a bit.”

Sam took the bottle of whiskey from the nightstand, unscrewed the cap, took a sip, then handed it to Dean, who drained a third of the bottle mouthful at a time. The liquor made him seem less pained, and a little more relaxed – but he looked desperate, needy.

“You ready for some more fun now, Dean?”

“...Yeah.”

“Tell me what you want.”

“Want you to use me, Sammy. Rut me like a fucking bitch in heat.”

“Show me, Dean. Show me how bad you want it.” Sam tossed him the bottle of lube and Dean squirmed out of his pants, exposing not just his hard cock but his full sack and tight, reddened asshole. His face flushed as he squeezed lube all over his hands, then gently slipped one finger into his hole. Sam sat down in the bed beside him and threw and arm around him, one hand on his thigh, and this seemed to motivate Dean to try harder. He forced two more fingers inside himself, ignoring the pain, stretching himself open for Sam's eyes.

And Sam took the little knife in hand and Dean barely recoiled as Sam pressed the knife into his pecs and begin to carve – Dean had carved himself at the same depth so many times before every time he sliced himself with silver to prove he wasn't a shifter. Sam cut three wide, circular shapes across his chest, and then Dean _did_ flinch a little as Sam ran the sharp blade across his abs, carefully skimming off the crust of congealed pus that was already beginning to form around his open burns, exposing the sensitive membranes underneath to air. Dean began pumping his cock with the hand that wasn't inside him, both to stop it from softening from pain, and because the endorphins of arousal helped distract him from the burning wounds that Sam was re-opening all over his torso.

When all the wounds were good and open, Sam stood. “Get up and bend over the bed so I can fuck you like the animal you are.”

Dean complied, and Sam undid his fly and slammed hilt-deep into him with one thrust. Even having three fingers spreading his ass hadn't prepared Dean to be fucked like this. Sam held him by his hips and used his ass like it was a fleshlight, each thrust and withdrawal dragging Dean's bleeding chest across the bedsheets. His whole torso felt like it was on fire from the friction of open burns against rough polyester, and his ass felt ablaze from the friction of having Sam's huge dick brutally jammed into him, plunging his insides far past where his fingers had reached.

“Like this, Dean?” Sam panted over the noise of flesh slapping against flesh. “This enough for you?”

“No!” Dean gasped, his voice muffled by the bedsheets as he bucked back into each of Sam's thrusts. “God, no! Mmff – you gotta – just fucking rip me open – claim me, gimme wounds that won't heal --”

“You think this is going to heal? You're gonna wear these scars for the rest of your life, Dean. Gonna go through the rest of your life with 'DOG' carved across your tits. Think – think any girl'd wanna _sleep_ with you then?”

Dean's eyes widened in terror as he looked down at his chest to confirm the implication, and Sam grabbed him and held him suffocatingly close as he continued: “Unless you wanna call up Cas, ask him to heal you? That sound good? Tell Cas you fucked up hunting, got tortured and raped. Let him see you all cut up, cum dripping out of your ass, let him see how hard that makes you. You wanna do that, Dean?”

“God,” Dean choked, “If Cas saw me he'd --”

“Be disgusted?” Sam was panting now, ramming Dean even faster as he drew near to climax “Pity you? Want you? Take some sloppy seconds? Would – would you let him?”

“D'you want me to?” Dean gasped.

“Yeah. Let – let Cas see what a slut you are-- God, Dean, _fuck_ \--!”

Sam was lost for words at this point, drawing near to the edge, until finally he shuddered and softened inside his big brother's ass. When we withdrew, Dean instinctively slipped a finger into his own hole, feeling the mix of slippery lube and hot cum inside. As he did, a little of Sam's semen slipped out of his ass and dribbled down his balls and down his hard, dangling cock.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” Sam hissed, and Dean withdrew his fingers immediately. “You don't get to get off. You're going to pray to Cas, but before that, I'm going to give Cas something nice to see when he shows up.”

Sam rolled up his sleeve and snapped the latex glove onto his right hand, took the bottle of lube in his left, and unscrewed the cap. He gently pressed the bottle into Dean's loose, used-up asshole and squeezed it all into him, then smeared the lube inside with two gloved fingers. He didn't even need to start with one finger – after that rough fucking, Dean was so stretched out that two fingers moving inside him barely registered. The third finger he noticed, and with the fourth finger, Sam actually had to go slow, let Dean squirm around it and relax into it. The blood was drying on Dean's chest, and his cock was softening from lack of attention. Sam slowly twisted his fingers inside, pistoning his hand back and forth. Dean was so loose and sloppy that he could easily have taken a normal fist, but Sam's hand wasn't going to fit inside him so comfortably.

Then Sam tucked his thumb in and began working his whole fist inside. He could hear that Dean was crying, but intermixed with the sobs were little nasal gasps that sounded like arousal. Finally, he managed to get his whole fist inside Dean's passage and began to twist it, making Dean gasp and moan at the pressure of Sam's thick knuckles against his needy prostate. Dean's rim was stretched totally taut against Sam's muscular wrist, at the absolute limits of comfort.

But Dean's comfort wasn't what mattered tonight.

By the time Sam's forearm was halfway buried in him, Dean was biting down on the bedsheets to muffle his screaming, and it was barely working. His body was unnaturally, impossibly full, and the deeper Sam got, the less lube there was to ease his passage. The physical pain was so intense he had gone totally soft, and his wordless yells and groans had gotten so loud that there was a serious risk of a fellow motel guest knocking down their door... or calling the cops. So Sam began to work his arm outwards, but quickly, roughly, making the removal even more torturous than the insertion. Just before he managed to work his hand all the way out, he stopped to rub hard against Dean's prostate, and his other hand moved to abuse Dean's soft cock, until Dean's face was flushed and pre-orgasmic under its coating of dried tears -- and then he pulled out, and helped Dean up onto the bed.

Sam was dishevelled from the rough sex, his hair messy, right arm sticky with cum, lube, and Dean's blood. But he was nowhere near as messy as Dean was. His beautiful big brother was sprawled on the bed like a sex doll, silent, eyes half closed, barely breathing. The word “DOG” was carved jaggedly into his chest, matching the six circular cigarette burns below his nipples. His entire torso was smeared with dried blood and secretions from his many wounds, and his wrists and thighs were bruised by how tight Sam had held him and how roughly he'd fucked him – there was a wound on his temple that Sam hadn't even noticed before, apparently from bashing Dean into the headboard in the heat of their passion. Sam's brutalization had changed Dean's ass from a tight pucker to a slit as long as the width of his wrist, a gaping cunt oozing lube, cum, and blood.

Sam lit Dean a menthol. It took Dean a while to react, but sluggishly he accepted it and took a long, slow, postcoital drag. “This mean it's over?” he said, voice weak and raspy.

“Yeah. Did you have a good time?”

“It was pretty good.”

“As good as you said it was on the rack?”

Dean took another drag on his cigarette. “I dunno, Sammy. Alastair was a master. You got some catching up to do before you get that good at it. But... tonight you got pretty damn close. I almost felt something.”

“That's something, I guess. You think you can stand up?”

Dean moved barely an inch before he winced. “Uh, no. Probably not.”

“I'm going to take a shower, get dressed, and head out to get food and supplies. You call Cas and tell him while I was out, some psycho broke in and raped you. Or that you took a guy back here and he got rough with you. Whatever lie gets you off. Just see if he's up to healing you. We can't do this often if you'll be too messed up to hunt afterwards, because I have no clue how long those injuries will take to heal on their own, okay?”

With glazed eyes, Dean nodded. “Yeah, Sammy. Whatever you say.”

He watched his little brother shower as he finished his smoke. Didn't make eye contact as Sam threw on jeans and flannel and hustled out the door. Didn't move as the Impala's engine revved. Lying on the bed, nude and bleeding, Dean waited until his brother was long gone before he began to pray.

 


End file.
